Beauty of the Dust

7.

Chapter 7

Cross walks and crossed hearts and hope-to-dies

Silver clouds with grey linings

...

You know time crawls on when you're waiting for the song to start

So dance along to the beat of your heart

--The Phoenix, Fall Out Boy

 The soft crinkle of the parchment paper as I wrapped a bouquet combined pleasantly with the airy whistle of the customer and the hushed guidance of Brigid to a customer in the corner. The tangy scent of the flowers was heightened by the misty humidity encompassing the entire shop. An ordinary day at the shop.

I smiled up at the customer as I rang the cost in the cash register. “She’ll love the limoniums. They truly will lift up her spirit,” I reassured Mr. George. The hybrids, en masse, displayed a colorful array of purples--lavenders, lilacs; pinks--dark, fuchsias, rose; and blues.

Felines were no longer a safe or practical household pet with the cost of upkeep and the disease they help spread. Yet, George’s mother had been adamant on caring for a little orange and white calico, reminiscent of her younger days. Unfortunately, as per usual, after two weeks, the cat disappeared--whether it was due to malicious design or undomesticated wanderings was unknown. Although that was five days ago, Mrs. Susan, who cared for the cat dearly, was still distraught and anxious with hope.

We exchanged cash for bouquet in an age old monetary practice.

“I can only hope. A breath of fresh air should do her some good as well.” Collecting his change with one hand and picking up his picnic basket with the other, the bouquet secure under his arm, Mr. George wove his way through the potted plants to the door.

“Enjoy the park!” I called out after him, not without a hint of wistfulness. It was one of those rare days in the late Autumn when Summer asserts its dominance once more, as if Wynter frost would never come.The fringes of the park acted as a wasteland, collecting debris and trash--both of objects and of people--, yet  the deeper one ventured into the park, the more vibrant vegetation was present. A spot in nature largely untouched by humanity, the inner park came to life, providing an oasis for those seeking one, a restorative for those in need.

A glance at the clock revealed the time was 13:45: almost time for lunch. Brigid was in the midst of explaining  the meaning of the hyacinth flower--a story of amity, jealousy, loss. We encouraged our customers to learn the language of the flowers before constructing their own unique bouquet arrangements. If a picture spoke a thousand words, a well chosen flower arrangement spoke in leagues.

Once I caught Brigid’s eye, she sent me a nod. After this customer she’d close the shop for lunch; I’d leave now and return in two hours to open. For now, I had a lunch date with my guardians.

It was the first Wednesday of the month and the guardians and I had agreed we’d meet for lunch. I had ached for their company too great to persuade otherwise.

Entering the back, I clipped off my nametag and took my messenger bag from the hook, leaving my coat behind. Outside, the weather was beautiful; the kind of weather that inspires life changes and coaxes a deep breath. My cream lace cardigan was perfect for this weather.

The walk to Bella’s shop, usually a blessing in brevity, in this weather, was insufficient and I ached to linger longer in the fresh air before having to go inside. Peering into the glass, my hands creating a frame, I immediately distinguished my guardians from the cafe bustle. The scene from the window urged a smile upon my lips.